


The Thistle and the Burr

by ridgeline



Series: Somewhere Out of the Woods [4]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game)
Genre: Banter, Domestic, M/M, No characters were harmed during this fic I was surprised too, Shaving
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-23
Updated: 2020-10-23
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:40:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27160585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ridgeline/pseuds/ridgeline
Summary: On the other side of the room, Roche was shaving.
Relationships: Iorveth/Vernon Roche
Series: Somewhere Out of the Woods [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1962229
Comments: 4
Kudos: 36





	The Thistle and the Burr

**Author's Note:**

> Seren y Gogledd = North Star in Welsh
> 
> The title is picking from Ben Howard's song. God, I love his song.
> 
> Huge thx for my beta DJ. Thank you mate!!

Seren y Gogledd was hanging low in the deep purple night sky, blinking with its cold, lucent light. Iorveth curled in a big chair, holding a cup of hot tea. He stared at the pale star, a blanket wrapped on his good leg.

On the other side of the room, Roche was shaving. He stood in front of the mirror, an old razor in his hand, moving along his chin smooth and skillfully. Roche was still half-naked, traces of old scars and new bruises spread on his shoulder like marks on the star atlas.

Come to think of it, Roche probably never takes his clothes off in front of other people.

"I hate this," Iorveth sighed.

"About what, " Roche murmured, still staring at the mirror, not really paying attention.

_About you leaving fucking shaving lather on the washbasin again, about you preferring to go with bread instead of eggs when you have wight's soup for dinner, about I could recognize your emotion through your voice now; about knowing that I will found your bloede D'hoine hair on my clothes two weeks after this, disgusting,_ Iorveth thought, sighed again.

"This, " He said, finally.

"I can't read your mind," Roche shrugged. He put down the razor, grabbed a towel, wiped his chin clean. 

"I'm not Geralt's Sorcerer," He tilted his head, added.

"Didn't know you are posing yourself as such," It didn’t come as vicious as he thought it might be. Iorveth frowned. Pathetic.

Roche ignored Iorveth. He ditched the tower into the basin and stretched, wiry body made some cracking sound. Then Roche yawned, climbed onto the bed.

"I'm going to sleep," he announced.

"What, you are not going back to your own room?" Iorveth said, he finished his tea, put the cup aside on the small table, "I thought it was paid with your Temeria money."

"It was paid with Nilfgaard money and you already knew it, squirrel," Roche blinked, "I'll go back there in the morning."

"Are you going to sleep?" He eyed Iorveth.

"Why?" Iorveth sneered.

"I'm tired. There's still two weeks of the journey ahead," Roche groaned.

"I don't think Tossiaint is holding its breath for you," Iorveth taunted, "Or me."

"I doubt it, " Roche agreed with a half-smile, "But a paid bed won't hurt."

Without waiting for Iorveth's answer, Roche ended this conversation. He laid down on the bed, closed his eyes.

Iorveth sat in silence.

A waft of moist apricot flower scent comes through the window. Iorveth glanced at the fireplace, peeled a tangerine. He ate most of it, licked the juice off his fingertips clean, then piled up the white webs and peels on the armrest neatly.

It's late-night now. The stars kept moving, couldn't see Seren y Gogledd from Iorveth's position. After the Conjunction of the Spheres, there are a few new, strange stars in the sky. Someone probably would name them later, make up some tales about it. 

Iorveth shook his head, stood up. 

He left the blanket on the chair and walked towards the bed. He stripped and climbed onto it. Cold air touched his skin, he shivered a bit.

On the other side of the bed, Roche was already sound sleeping. With the sudden noise of Iorveth made, he tensed up unconsciously, then relaxed. Roche’s sleeping with his back to Iorveth, a quilt pulled loosely on his wrist. His head on the pillow, grey hair pressed in the fabric.

_If you lived long enough, then there's no such thing as aftermath. It's just a phase before other things happen._ Iorveth thought. 

_This, and other lies that my honorable race told me._

He sat on the bed, legs curled. He thought about other reasons to hate this. About the smell of soap, Temeria rye, and horses from Roche's body, those scents now seemed to have become a part of him, even after a bath. Iorveth stared at Roche's back, white and bulge-like scars scattered across the bare tinted skin. Those are familiar stars. Iorveth knew most of the tales behind these scars now. He knew how these twist lines felt under his hands, too.

A phase, really.

Roche's eyes were shut, a painful look crossed his face.

Iorveth reached out, then paused. Slowly, his thumb wiped off the slight left of dried lather on Roche's chin.

_I hate this._ He thought.

FIN


End file.
